


kiss me with your fist

by usuallysunny



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Graveyard Sex, Rough Sex, Season 2, Secret Relationship, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 20:12:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18224897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usuallysunny/pseuds/usuallysunny
Summary: What happens when Angelus counters Buffy’s rough kick with a rough kiss? He still makes her crazy and those around her, even those closest to her, have no idea.It's not what she really wants - but it's something.





	kiss me with your fist

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote and posted this around a year ago under a different penname. That account is long gone unfortunately, deleted in a weird tantrum where I decided I hated my writing (i'm so dramatic lol). But I found this on my laptop and thought I'd re-upload it incase anyone is still interested. Set during BtVS Season 2!

She feels him before she sees him.

From across the graveyard, she burns under the scorching heat of his gaze. His lips are curled into that sinister, secret smile that he wears only for her and her blood runs cold. She shouldn’t be surprised.

In a crowded room, Angel’s always been all she could see.

It doesn’t matter that a demon now wears his face. When all else waivers and rots, he will always remain her one true thing.

He still makes her crazy and those around her – even those closest to her – have no idea.

It’s her darkest secret, her most hidden shame. She turns away, her eyes falling shut and her mouth pursing into a thin line. She can’t look at him. She can’t be reminded of the way her thighs clench around him when his expert tongue is inside of her or how she screams when his cock and fangs rip into her at the same time.

Angelus is a monster. He destroys everything he touches. Now he’s destroying her, tearing her apart from the inside out. And she’s letting him.

Because, for as long as she can remember, she has wanted him. She fought it as hard as she could, but from the moment she saw him in that alley, the line of his strong jaw illuminated in the darkness and his voice dripping honey, she’s been his.

Now he’s different - ruthless and brutal and pure evil, but she can’t seem to let him go. She can’t forget the way he was before, the way his powerful hands - the ones that could yank your heart from your chest and snap your neck with a flick of the wrist – would hold her like she was made of glass.

She feels him everywhere. Her mind is full of him. It sounds so stupid, but she sits in the shower and cries and scrubs at her skin until she’s red raw, but there’s no extracting him. He’s a disease; he’s crawled his way into her bones and bled into her every pore. He’s just in there now, in her veins. She can’t get him out. She knows submitting to him is a kind of suicide.

Every time their fights end up with him buried inside her, she knows he'll sweep through her life again like wildfire, burning up all the good and leaving her with nothing to show for it but the barren wasteland.

And they say _he’s_ the one with the obsession.

The truth is, she doesn’t remember what it was like to not be his. And isn’t that a thing? To belong to a man who hates you, who kills without a thought, who murders all that’s good and will rip you apart once he gets bored of playing.

He’s playing with her now, approaching her with a softness sparkling behind his eyes and a gentle smile curling the corners of his lips. He does this sometimes, pretends to be Angel. He finds it amusing, how the rhythm of her heart stutters slightly as wishful thinking means for a second – just a second – she believes it. He loves the devastated look on her face when he barks out a cruel laugh even more.

“Stop it.” She doesn’t let herself believe this time. She clenches her fists and grits her teeth and fights the urge to screw her eyes shut.

She hates looking at him, so different from the man she loved but so much the same.

“Buffy…” He whispers her name like a prayer and closes the gap between them, placing a finger under her chin and tipping her head up. She shuts her eyes. Now she feels nothing and everything, all at once. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for hurting you. Please Buffy, I love you… God, I’m so in love with you…”

Her eyes fly open then and her top lip curls into a snarl as she places two hands firmly on his chest and pushes.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” She growls, her voice spitting venom, as he steps backwards and laughs throatily.

She doesn’t give him time to answer. She just lunges for him - tired of being the victim, she’s let this go on for too long. Things are different now, she can’t give in anymore. Not now he’s killed Jenny. Not now she’s seen pain rip through the people she loves the most, seen their chests cave as they buckle under the pressure of it.

He quirks an eyebrow, quickly dashing to the side before her fist can connect with his face.

Furious grunts fly from her lips as she barely computes what she’s doing. She’s not thinking straight, her mind hazy and blurred. She can barely see two feet in-front of her – all she knows is that she’s never felt like this in all her life. Yes, she’s been angry before. She’s been angry at Xander, at Willow, at her Mom and most certainly at Giles. But never like this.

Amusement flashing across his features, Angelus lets her kick and punch and scratch, dodging and blocking every one of her moves with the skill and grace that comes from over two hundred years of being a vampire. When she stops, she catches him off guard, and it’s this that gives her the upper hand as she takes advantage of his momentary hesitation to throw her tiny body into his.

He lets out an irritated grunt as they fall to the ground unceremoniously, but the position – her on top of him – soon has him quirking his brow suggestively.

“If you wanted to be on top, love…” He grabs her hips with both hands, slamming her down onto his groin as she tries to escape, “…all you had to do was ask.”

She writhes and wriggles, but soon realises that’s only making things worse. The shuddering strength in his hands – and, if she’s honest, her own need for him - means she can’t get away, and with every movement of her hips, his hardening cock just presses tighter against her heated core.

“Fuck you.” She spits through gritted teeth.

“Well, we both know how you love that.”

"Not anymore.” She replies, her voice acerbic. But he doesn’t miss the subtle fluttering of her eyelids and parting of her pink lips when he rolls his hips and grinds himself against her.

“Really?” He murmurs, his tone cool and calculated, as his darkened gaze flickers to her lips and she captures the bottom one between her teeth.

“Really…” She half-moans, before Jenny’s face flashes before her eyes like a Vegas neon light.

Mortified, she uses all the strength in her body to propel herself up and away. Angelus is too quick – what he wants, he gets – and his hands clamp down on her hips again and pulls her tight against him.

She growls in frustration, “Ugh, I hate you.”

“The feeling’s mutual sweetheart.”

A lopsided smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth as he feels the heat of her pussy through the thin fabric of her leggings and his leather pants. He reaches down and brushes two fingers against her heat, feeling the moist material.

“Do you get this wet for every man you hate?”

“Don’t be crude.”

It’s always been this way with them; a constant push and pull, who will crack and break first, a dangerous game drenched in blood.

His hips thrust up, his cock pressing harder against her, and she can’t help the groan that falls from her lips. Heat blossoms into an unbearable ache as she feels a gush of wetness coat her inner thighs. She sees his eyes darken as his nostrils flare; she’s not fooling anyone.

“You cry and you protest and you say it’s the last time, but you still want me to fuck you…” He practically snarls, one hand trailing up her shirt to grab her breast and tweak her nipple, “Just admit it, sweetheart.”

His heated words bring her crashing back to reality, shocked at his brazen language – though she shouldn’t be. If there’s anything she’s learnt over the past few months, it’s that Angelus has a filthy tongue.

“Mmmm…” He moans on purpose when she furiously wriggles again, trying to get away, “Keep moving like that.”

“Enough.” Buffy growls, using every ounce of her Slayer strength to jump up and propel herself away from him. She’s not sure whether she got the best of him or he let her go, but she doesn’t particularly care. She just needs to get away. If the unbearable ache between her thighs is any indication, she doesn’t have the strength to resist him - no matter how haunted she is by the ghosts of Jenny and Enyos and everyone he’s spent generations slaughtering and no matter how much she reminds herself that he isn’t the man she loves.

Flitting to his feet, he rolls his neck and cracks his shoulders and Buffy’s eyes travel the length of him - sometimes she forgets how impressive he is, how tall and strong and leanly muscled.

She’s up against the wall of the nearby mausoleum before she can blink, his hand curled around her throat.

“You’re saying you don’t want this?” He takes her earlobe between his teeth, whispering heatedly in her ear. He moves one of his hands down and puts it between her legs, shoving them apart and thrusting his hips openly against hers.

Powerless, Buffy bites her lip, his cock pressing into where she needs it most.

“You killed Jenny.” She bites out through gritted teeth, her eyes screwed shut. Her cheeks blossom into heat as his hips roll against hers.

“And you don’t care.”

He says it so calmly, his voice so matter of fact, it takes her breath away. Tears cloud her vision as she realises he’s right. It makes her feel sick and an ache presses too hard on her chest, but deep down, she knows he’s right. She’s fighting so hard to resist it, but she knows what her body wants. And it’s him. On top of her - his fingers, his tongue, his cock inside her.

The sight of Jenny's body, broken and bruised and so perversely laid out on Giles's bed, hasn't changed that.

She’s an addict, about to fall off the wagon.

“Just let me go.” She practically begs, but when her hands fly to his chest to push him away, his own grab her wrists and slam them against the wall above her head.

It burns, but makes her feel alive. Just like he always does.

“You know…” His hand trails to her throat again as his body presses her harder against the wall. She feels him – all of him – hard against her body as his darkly seductive voice washes over her, “I always thought of Dru as my greatest masterpiece. I’m not too proud to admit I was obsessed. But you… well, I think we can do better.”

She stares him down, her gaze hardening as hatred flashes through her eyes. He’s looking at her in a way that makes her blood run cold, tension bubbling in the pit of her stomach. She can feel the hard planes of his body as he pushes her into the wall; every sinew, every muscle. He presses into her so tightly, it’s as though he wants to consume her – to merge them into one.

Her gaze flickers to his lips, stained with the blood of an earlier victim, and then to his eyes and she’s stunned at their scorching intensity.

She feels his erection push against the soft skin of her stomach, causing a jolt of searing desire to electrify every nerve in her body. She feels it in her core, a gush of wetness coating her inner thighs.

He forces her to hold his gaze as he readjusts them, the hand that isn’t holding her neck travelling down her behind to lift her up the wall. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, her mind completely blank. In the moment, guilt, morality, rational thought don’t exist.

There’s only _him_ … and the unbearable wave of pleasure that hits her when his thick cock makes contact with her heated core.

She can’t control the gasp that escapes her lips, her brows furrowing as her mouth falls into a small ‘o’ shape. All the while, Angelus keeps her pinned with his eyes, refusing to let her look away. He moves purposefully – pointedly – his hips trapping her as they create a delicious friction.

 _What are you doing?_ A small voice at the back of her mind screams at her, fighting to regain control of the situation. _Dry humping Angelus against a dirty wall?_

The voice of reason breaks through.

“I am not your toy.” She spits, and with the word ‘toy’, tries to kick his shin. This time, he’s ready and when she goes to kick him, he stops her by roughly covering her mouth with his own. And she’s frozen, unable to do anything other than sharply exhale against his unyielding mouth.

“Kiss me back.” He growls and his mouth is punishing and feels so much like before. It slants over hers, his tongue sweeping over her bottom lip and demanding entry.

When he tightens his grip around her neck and pins her with his scorching eyes, she knows she has to make a decision. And it’s torture… because she wants him and hates him in equal measure.

She shouldn’t let this happen, can’t let this happen. Not again. Not after Jenny. She’d be betraying everyone she holds dear; Willow, Xander, Giles…

 _Angel_ …

She lets out a strangled noise she doesn’t recognise as coming from herself, her hands flying up to push at his chest.

He grabs her wrists instead, slamming them against the wall beside her head again and roughly covering her mouth with his own.

The monster inside her rages, bursting through the surface with the force of something that’s been denied since the day she was called. Later, she’ll convince herself she fought back – that she tried to resist because she’s a good person.

But sometimes, Buffy realises, even good people can be a little bad.

So, she lets instinct take over, the fates frowning upon her as she returns his furious kiss and submits to his darkness.

She surrenders and lets him put his hands on her because, yeah, in the midst of all the heartache, pain and hopelessness, she’s kind of lost the mission.

His tongue sweeps inside, giving her no time to resist, to change her mind. She feels his smirk against her mouth as he thinks he’s won. She doesn’t care. In that moment, as his tongue dances with hers and she tastes the blood he must’ve drank and the cigarette he’s smoked, she wants to lose.

She wants his hands on her - wants to buy into the lie - because deep down, it’s him and he’s all she’s ever wanted.

With one hand, he grabs her cheeks, his fingers burning her skin as he roughly turns her head to the side and attacks her neck with wet, open mouthed kisses.

Not what she really wants. But something.

Her head falls back against the wall and she gasps at the viciousness of it all. She shouldn’t be surprised; she’s fast because she hates herself, he’s fast for the same reason. He hates her as much as she hates him – and he despises that he wants her just as much too.

She grasps at his shoulders desperately, clinging on like he’s the only thing keeping her sane. The irony of it all isn’t lost on her.

Angelus will be the ruin of her; he’s not her saving grace.

He licks a stripe up her neck and she feels it between her legs. She grabs his face and brings his mouth back to hers, entwining her tongue with his and rubbing against his erection.

“Fuck…” He hisses, his expression dark. “Do your friends know you’re here? Do they know what you get up to at night? How you ride my dick and let me fuck you… while they look for ways to kill me?” His voice is low, mocking, as he grabs her chin and stops her from kissing him.

His head lurches back as his eyebrow quirks and he waits for her answer.

She frowns petulantly, a huff of exasperation escaping her lips.

“Fuck me or kill me.” She spits, “I don’t want to talk.”

“What do you think Angel would say?” He breathes into her ear, his fingers tightening their grip on her face. She screws her eyes shut, her lips pursed into a thin line as white-hot pain licks at her insides. “If he could see you now. I remember that night, you know? How slow and gentle it was. I know it’s not what you really wanted. You like it rough, love. Idiot didn’t even eat your pussy.”

She blinks back hot tears as his dark laughter and taunting words wash over her. He knows what he’s doing, poisoning and tainting Angel’s memory like this. He knows how much it hurts.

 _It’s not true,_ she begs silently to no-one, _I loved you. I loved us_.

“Shut up.” She whispers – it’s too much. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.” He covers her chanting with his mouth and rips her shirt off her body.

She lets her hands tangle in his hair as he moves south, ripping off her offending bra and wasting no time in cupping one of her breasts, his mouth latching onto the other.

She moans, one hand flying behind her, her fingers curling into the wall as his tongue swirls around her rosy nipple and her other hand anchors him there. Once turning his attention to her other breast, he straightens, looking into her darkened eyes as she grabs a hold of his blood-red shirt, her just-as-impatient-as-his fingers ripping it open. She runs her hands over his sculpted chest, biting into her lip as she pushes it off his shoulders and it flutters to the dewy grass.

She kicks her shoes off and he divests her of her leggings, leaving her in just her panties. The smirk slips off his features when she grabs his belt, her eyes dark as she aggressively pulls it through the loops.

Their mouths collide roughly, all teeth, tongues, heat and passion, as they shed the rest of their clothes, leaving them bare before each other.

His hands travel to her ass, lifting her so she can wrap her strong legs around his waist. When his engorged cock makes contact with her bare flesh, she arches her back, pleasure crashing over her like a tidal wave. He buries his face in her golden hair, rubbing against her wetness and biting back his own snarl of pleasure.

Her eyes fly open in confusion when he puts her down, dropping to his knees on front of her.

His dark eyes consider her hungrily and when his mouth moves toward her heated core, she quickly plants a foot on his shoulder.

His gaze flickers up to hers, annoyed.

“I want to taste your pussy.”

His taunts about Angel echoing in her mind, she barks out a sarcastic laugh.

“I don’t think so.”

He rolls his eyes and moves too fast for her. With his thumb and forefinger, he parts her pussy and slips his tongue up her slit. A squeal escapes her lips as her head bangs against the wall, her hips bucking on instinct. He licks a hot stripe, capturing her clit between his teeth and playing her like an instrument he mastered years ago. He slaps the inside of her thigh and pulls her legs further apart when she tries to close them around his head, his licks and sucks merciless.

He buries himself between her thighs, his tongue slipping inside her and fucking her as her hips buck and she practically sobs her reluctant approval. The pleasure is too much, too intense. He knows how to make a woman scream and when he circles her clit and looks up at her with darkened eyes, that’s precisely what she does. She convulses against him, out of breath as she comes violently. He rarely bothered to do this to Darla or Dru, never cared much for the woman’s pleasure – but with Buffy, it's all about power.

He wants her to suffer, to look at herself in the mirror and be overcome with guilt as she remembers the way she screamed as she rode his face. He won’t admit that the thought of being the only man who’s ever done this to her - not even good old soul boy - thrills him too.

As she calms down, he stands up and she kisses him quickly, tasting herself on his tongue.

“Open your legs.” He murmurs huskily. In the aftermath of her orgasm, she’d squeezed her thighs together, shaking as the waves crashed over her. He lifts her again when she complies and aligns himself with her soaking entrance. He can’t believe how wet she is, given that she supposedly hates him so much. He tries to remember if she got this wet for Angel. His lips curl into a smirk at that. He’s going to fuck that sap’s image straight out of her head. He’s always been possessive, wanting everything at once. And right now, he wants her.

He wants to consume her, to drink her strength. He wants to ruin her for every other man. He wants to make it so that even if that stupid Scooby Gang does find a way to put his soul back in his body, Angel will never be able to look at her without seeing everything he did.

He feels her nails gripping into the skin of his shoulders impatiently and he takes that as his cue, pushing inside her with one forceful thrust.

“Fuck! A—” She stops herself from screaming his name, gritting her teeth and screwing her eyes shut.

He fucks her harder, faster, his hand curling around her neck again and squeezing tight. She feels her toes curl in ecstasy as his powerful hips drive up into her, hitting the perfect spot.

“No. Say it.” He snarls.

She clenches her jaw in furious refusal. It’s hard and angry and desperate and he feels her clench around him when he removes his hand from her neck to slap her cheek. _She’s a freak_ , he thinks with amusement.

Buffy Summers is as fucked up as he is.

He sets a fast, lethal pace and she revels in it, wanting to feel the pain. He slams into her and she can’t help the desperate “ _Angel_ ” that falls from her lips.

“No.” He growls. “Say my name.”

Her eyes snap open when he twirls his hips, pushing even deeper inside her. She wants to be punished for being such a shitty person because this would destroy her friends if they found out.

And deep down, she knows she’s better than this – better than a quick fuck against the wall with a man she hates. But in this moment, she can’t bring herself to care… because Angelus is electric and she’s never felt such ecstasy in all her life.

She surrenders. As his pupils dilate to leave only piercing black and he rams himself into her lithe body, not only does she submit to his real name, she practically sobs it.

She’s been so constrained. So duty bound and bottled up and _good_. Maybe, buried under the weight of the label chosen one, she’s tired of feeling like she can't breathe. Angel's the only thing that's ever made sense to her. And though he isn't him, he's the next best thing.

She’s tired of the pressure ringing in her ears, tired of being so completely and utterly alone.

Angelus is pure evil – totally unapologetic - and she thinks if God rewards good deeds, maybe the Devil rewards bad ones. Maybe that’s why surrendering to him feels like pure bliss.

He holds her face in his hands, planting two quick kisses on her lips before deepening it, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth and biting so hard he draws blood. She tastes her want on his tongue as it entwines with hers.

His hands travel to her hips, angling her so he can slide even deeper and she wants to look down at their joined skin, but she can’t break away from his eyes. He holds her gaze and she feels like there’s a vice clamped around her heart, squeezing tight.

He’s so beautiful it makes her want to cry.

 _He_ _has no business being that beautiful_ , she thinks. _He doesn’t deserve it._

“Harder.” She demands through gritted teeth, feeling herself approaching the edge. “Faster.”

He snarls his approval, moving both hands back to her hips and slamming into her with new force.

She doesn’t bother hiding her cry; this is what she needs. She screws her eyes shut, wanting to feel something for the first time in months. Something other than the pain and regret and loss that presses too hard on her chest and makes her feel like she’s breaking apart from the inside out. It’s crude, but maybe he can fuck Angel out of her mind, stop her feeling so lost and confused.

If Angel can’t come back, this will have to do. She's just not ready to give him up completely.

She throws her head back and thinks she never wants this feeling to end. She’ll be all those things – she’ll be bad – as long as she gets to feel this for the rest of her life.

Everything is more animalistic now as he pounds into her relentlessly and kisses her, his tongue mimicking the movement of his hips below.

She arches her back, pulling him deeper inside her and when he moves one of his hands to play with her clit, she feels like she’s going to break.

“I’m so close.” She practically sobs against his mouth, his thrusts growing harder and more erratic. The tightening pleasure curls into spirals as his electric fingers play with the sensitive bundle of nerves between her thighs.

He feels her pulsating around him, tight as a vice.

“Come for me, Buffy.” He murmurs lowly with an expert swirl of his hips. Her real name – not love, not sweetheart, not Buff – has her flying over the edge, volcanic pleasure blasting through her. It takes her breath away, eclipsing anything she ever thought was pleasure in the past.

As she comes, she screws her eyes shut and thinks of Angel.

Angelus bites back his own groan, his head dropping as he feels her milk his cock, her wet walls tightening excruciatingly around him.

He comes just after her, her mouth covering his and swallowing his moan.

Heavy satisfaction settles in her bones as the velvet pull of her pulsating and fluttering around him keeps him hard. But grace is weakness and he’s cold and merciless, so he pulls out and it takes a few moments for her to come to her senses.

Horrified, she pushes him away and he laughs cruelly at her devastation.

He is, of course, the one to break the silence.

“Thanks, Buff!” He sing-songs as he pulls up his pants and buckles his belt. Anything that might've been real - any flicker of it - is long gone now. “That was great. I’ll call you?”

She clenches her jaw, a wall of guilt slamming into her and making her feel sick. She looks at him – really looks at him – and devastation bubbles in the pit of her stomach. She hasn’t cured herself of her disease, of the sickness running through her veins. She still wants him.

She wants him to look at her and kiss her like he used to, full of adoration and love and respect.

She wants him to stop playing with her, to hold her when she cries and tell her she’s the most important thing in the world to him.

She wants this to be real. She wants him to love her.

But it isn’t real.

And he doesn’t love her.

He’s not Angel.

“I will kill you, I promise you that.” She bites out, hatred poisoning her bones. “You’re insane if you think this can last forever.”

She means it. When she’s strong enough, she will put an end to this. Because she doesn’t want to be like this anymore – broken and stuck in reverse, so afraid of changing because she’s built her life around him.

He smirks, a mischievous flicker dancing behind his eyes.

“If love is not madness, it is not love.” He quotes cryptically.

“I don’t love you.” She spits, incredulous.

He says nothing, but smirks at her in his disarming way.

It angers her, but she doesn’t have the strength to fight anymore. Not tonight. So, she silently gathers her clothes and he lets her, slipping into the darkness. He's not done with her yet, but for tonight, he'll let her rest.

When he's gone, when she can't feel him anymore, she slides to the floor. She pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her cheek on one of them. Her throat burns as she swallows the lump in her throat, but the pressure building behind her temples alerts her to the fact that she’s going to cry.

Covered by the protective shroud of darkness, she lets the tears fall.

She sees Jenny’s face when she closes her eyes.

She cries – and thinks she is not a good person.

Maybe she never has been.


End file.
